


Addictions

by Diviana



Series: Damaged Talons [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, priest!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5844577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diviana/pseuds/Diviana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short ficlet set before events of Damaged Talons, someone finds themselves bruised and in the care of Father Jason Todd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addictions

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Mentions of alcohol and drug abuse.

"Ugh," he groaned. His head felt as if Supes had decided use his noggin as a punching bag. His mouth smarted. Running his tongue long his lips, he tasted blood. He internally complained, _Great Roy, you split your lip. What other fucking shit did you get yourself into?_

From the way his body ached, he'd gotten himself pretty badly beat.

_**Thwip! Thwip!** Two arrows left his bow, shaking slightly in the night wind, but held more steadily than he did. The two-bit crook barely dodged his arrows. Roy's hands shook too much to take aim again. Taking his chance, the the crook jumped to the next building, landing with a painful to the ears thud. Roy stumbled across the rooftop as if his body were weighed down by sand. Speeding up, his legs scissored the air as he leap. His arm scrapped the side of the building before his body slammed into the alley below._

"Fuck," he moaned, opening his eyes. Glancing around, he saw a large, white cross in front of him. He groped his face, checking for his mask. The fabric was still firmly attached to him.

"I see you're up," a voice agreed him.

Shifting his head, Roy observed a tan-skinned man dressed in all black, a priest. A single white streak in his bangs stood out against the darkness of his hair. In his hands was a small white box with an even smaller red cross embedded on it.

"I'm Jason Todd," he greeted, stepping closer to Roy, "Mind if I treat that cut?"

He gestured with the box in the direction of Roy's arm. Following the movement, Roy noticed the blood caked into his forearm, obscuring a nasty looking gash. His eyes darted between the priest and his arm multiple times. Then, he nodded.

With Roy's permission, he quickly knelt in front of Roy. Placing a wet cloth on his arm, Jason wiped away the blood and dirt that formed a crust on Roy's skin. Quickly after, he dabbed a sharp smelling liquid on the injury. Roy hissed that the fluid's touch.

The priest stilled, lifting Roy's arm closer to his face. Roy's flexed, resisting the urge to yank away. Jason lightly pressed on the area causing drops of blood to bead on the surface of Roy's skin. Wiping away the red, Jason muttered, "Glue will probably do as long you don't get the area wet, is that okay?"

"Yeah," Roy murmured. _Can't remember the last time I took a bath anyway._

His brow furrowed, Roy commented, "Didn't know priest specialize in first aid."

"You aren't from 'round here, are you?

"How'd I give it away?"

"This is Gotham. Between the everyday punks and the superpowered weirdos, ain't nobody rich enough not to know how to patch themselves up except Bruce Wayne."

The tube was small and cold to the touch. Jason started on the outside edge of the gash, near Roy's wrist, and moved in. Carefully turning Roy's arm, he followed the injury's path into the crook of Roy's arm pinching the skin together. He placed small splits to hold it shut. The last split stopped right under a series of vein-like lines running up Roy's arm, track marks. White bandages covered the area.

Stepping back, he commented, "As long as you keep the area dry, you'll be fine. Change the bandages every time they're dirty. Do you need a place to stay? Or some food?"

"Shelters aren't my thing."

"Actually," Jason corrected, "I was offering my roof."

"Don't need your pity," Roy countered, crossing his arms. His fingers pushed into the track markers roughly. He leaned into the wooden pew, away from the priest.

"What 'bout empathy?" Jason commented, cocking an eyebrow, "Alcohol was my poison. And cigarettes, but I haven't completely quit that habit."

"Let me guess, but that was until you found God?" Roy leered. He knew Jason's type. The ones who believed pray and faith healed all. The ones with one foot in the clouds. The ones that thought everybody's a lost lamb waiting to be saved.

"Hmm, ha. Be a great story if I did. But nope, I kept drinking along after I studied Scripture, casually you know. It got bad after my old man died. Drank myself sick grieving," Jason paused, his fingers tapping on the cross dangling from his neck, "Kept drinking thinking maybe the pain'd go away. Never did. Still doesn't. Then, one day I looked myself the mirror and I was a mess. Hair all greasy and long, a pathetic excuse for a beard on my face, and nothing in my stomach 'cept for the beer I had the night before."

Jason hesitated and swallowed. Fingers now tightly wrapped around his cross, he continued, "I hated the sad excuse of the person in the mirror. So I got out of my razor and took a shower. Had a hot meal. Repeated it until the next day and the day after."

Jason glanced at Roy. His lapis blue eyes scanning his face. He dissected Roy like an vision inside a crystal ball. Offering an arm, he stated, "How 'bout I offer you a hot meal and a place to sleep? Anything else we can discuss tomorrow,..."

"Roy," he supplemented, reaching out slowly.

"Roy," Jason rolled the word in his mouth, "Strange name for a hero. What does it stand for?"

"Nothing. It's just Roy."


End file.
